


Lord and Master

by tardigrape



Series: Trespasses Saga [1]
Category: Kingdom Come: Deliverance (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, Gay Sex, M/M, Oral Sex, Romance, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-02
Updated: 2019-12-02
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:14:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21639409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tardigrape/pseuds/tardigrape
Summary: When Hans and Henry return to Rattay, Henry helps Hans achieve his destiny, and is rewarded with a job serving the young lord. Living and working closely together leads to the inevitable.
Relationships: Hans Capon & Henry, Hans Capon/Henry
Series: Trespasses Saga [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1559917
Comments: 4
Kudos: 38





	Lord and Master

**Author's Note:**

> Moderate spoilers for Kingdom Come: Deliverance.

Henry, riding behind Lord Capon on their return from Bergow, wondered at the change in his friend’s manner. Hans had been jovial, even exuberant, as they rode out from Neuhof, and securing the margrave’s response had been accomplished without difficulty. But now, as they headed back toward Rattay, Hans was quiet, and his expression, when Henry caught it, was sullen.

As they sat beside the fire that night, Hans growled, throwing a twig into the flames and watching it burn.

“Something bothering you, Hans?” Henry inquired.

“You wouldn’t understand,” Hans snapped, tossing another bit of foliage onto the fire.

“All right, then.” Henry sat back.

“My life is utterly pointless,” Hans growled, apparently deciding he would tell Henry regardless of his understanding. “I’m reduced to running messages between fiefdoms. I’m a nobleman, a war veteran. Yet here I am, an errand boy, all because of that damn Sir Hanush.”

“Is he that bad?” Henry quite liked Sir Hanush. For a noble, he was pleasant enough, and he always seemed to have a task that needed doing, and which Henry could take care of for a bit of coin.

Hans, however, blew breath through clenched teeth. “He rules Rattay in my stead, and won’t relinquish. It is mine by right. I’m nineteen years old, Henry! I’m not a child!”

Henry grinned. Hans certainly sounded like a child at the moment. At least he hadn’t called Henry “boy.” “Well,” he said, “it seems to me a man would take his fate in his own hands.”

Hans’s brown eyes snapped up, his gaze meeting Henry’s. “What are you implying?”

Henry held his hands up defensively. “Nothing, nothing at all. I’m saying that I agree with you. It’s past time you inherited your birthright. Perhaps you might do something about that.”

Hans cocked an eyebrow. “What can I do? The members of the council aren’t bothered enough to come sign the papers declaring I’m of age.”

Henry leaned forward. “Then go to them! They don’t have to sign all at once, do they?”

Hans’s brows rose. “My God!” He rubbed his chin. “You know, I think you’re right.” He stood, smiling widely, and clapped Henry on the back. “It was a wonderful idea to tell you my troubles, Henry. Of course! We’ll go to the lords and have them sign the edict, and I will inherit my birthright.”

—————————————

Sir Hans insisted that Henry accompany him on the journey. In each fiefdom, Henry waited as Hans dashed off to find the noble of the house, returning with a triumphant expression, as though he had bested a foe in battle. When, finally, all the lords had signed, Hans dragged Henry with him as he marched into the long hall in Rattay and slapped the parchment on the table in front of Sir Hanush. “Hanush, I thank you for your service to my father, managing Rattay all these years. I am happy to report that your long years of service have ended.” He straightened, his hands on his hips, eyes dancing, as Hanush read the parchment. Hanush finally laid the document back on the table with a sigh.

He rose, extending a hand to Hans. “Well, boy, good luck then.” With that, he turned and left.

Hans turned to Henry, grinning from ear to ear. “I’ve done it!” he cried. He enveloped Henry in a bear hug, lifting him right off the floor.

“Oh,” Henry said, his arms pinned to his sides. “Yes, well done. Congratulations.”

“Yes!” Hans said, finally setting Henry back on his feet. “Yes, congratulations are in order. Come celebrate with me. You’re part of this too, you know!”

So Henry was obliged to trail after the young lord to the tavern. In truth, he couldn’t help but grin as well. Indeed, Hans was brash and spoiled, impulsive and hot-tempered, but he was also tremendously funny, and his smile was infectious. And, as he had pointed out, he was long past the age the lordship should rightfully have reverted to him. He had showed spirit, if not skill, at Talmberg, and he did seem to take the role of leadership much more seriously since the battle. Perhaps he was growing more responsible after all.

Not tonight, though, Henry realized, as Hans pushed a fifth tankard into his hands. “To Henry!” he cried, raising his own tankard. “Henry, who reminded me of my duties as lord!”

Henry raised his tankard as well and threw back the ale. His head was spinning, but he could never say no to Hans. The barmaid refilled their mugs, and Henry raised his again. “To Hans, who took his destiny into his own hands.”

Hans leaned forward. “Yes,” he said fiercely, smiling. “Yes, I absolutely did!” They drank again. Hans slammed his tankard onto the table and took Henry’s hand in his own. Hans’s hand was smooth, free entirely of callouses or rough edges. But it was warm, and his grip was tight. “You must ally with me, Henry,” he said, his words a bit slurred. “Lords together, brothers in arms.”

Henry shook his head. “I’m no lord.”

“You are.” Hans squeezed his hand. “Your father is a nobleman.”

“Without a castle. And I’m his bastard. I’m no noble, and we both know it.”

Hans leaned toward him. “You’re of noble birth. You may not hold a title, but you’re no commoner. And, well, you can read and write, can’t you?” He frowned, then grinned as though something had occurred to him. “You must be my chamberlain.”

Henry rubbed his head. The drink was making his ears fuzzy. “Hans, I don’t think—”

“You must!” Hans’s gaze was intense. “I am going to make Rattay better than it has ever been. I must have people around me who I can trust. People who are loyal to me, and not to Hanush.” He pulled Henry’s hand toward himself, pulling him closer. Henry could feel the heat of Hans’s breath. “You are loyal to me, aren’t you, Henry?”

Henry’s gaze met Hans’s. Henry had not thought much about what life would be like after their return. He didn’t think the nobles would accept him, despite and perhaps because of the circumstances of his birth. Yet Hans must trust him, to place him in such a position. Henry knew Hans liked him, and he liked Hans in return. Hans had, after all, listened to Henry’s counsel before. What else could Henry say? “I am, Hans. I am loyal to you.”

Hans smiled, and gripped Henry’s hand with both his own. “Then it’s settled.” He released Henry’s hand and raised his tankard again. “To the new chamberlain!”

When the town guard finally chased them out of the tavern well past curfew, Henry found himself staggering under the weight of Hans’s arm around his shoulders as they made their way back to Pirkstein. Or perhaps Henry was simply staggering, and Hans’s arm was holding him up. It was difficult to tell. At any rate, when they arrived in the courtyard, faced with a climb of multiple flights of stairs, Hans decided instead to sleep in Henry’s room. The room was dark, and Henry hesitated in the doorway, hoping to find a torch, but Hans roughly pushed him through. Henry’s feet tangled together and he fell crashing to the floor. Hans fell heavily after him, onto him, briefly knocking the breath from Henry’s lungs. Henry fought to get out from under Hans but succeeded only in turning over beneath him, as Hans struggled himself to get up off the floor. Henry again became aware of the young lord’s warm breath against his skin, and now of the warmth of his body against Henry’s own.

Hans chuckled. “I seem finally to have beaten you in unarmed combat,” he said softly. A lock of his hair fell forward, tickling Henry’s forehead. Henry brushed it aside.

“Congratulations again, then.”

Henry could just make out Hans’s face in the darkness, his teeth glinting as he returned Henry’s smile. Then Hans lowered his head, and his lips brushed Henry’s. Henry sucked in a breath, his heart thudding heavily in his chest. Could Hans feel his heartbeat, pressed together as they were? Henry thought perhaps he could feel another thudding, Hans’s own.

Henry reached up and pulled Hans’s face to him, pressing his mouth hard against his lord’s. Hans’s lips parted, and his tongue worked into Henry’s mouth, the taste of ale still heavy on it. Henry opened his mouth wider as Hans explored it with his tongue, and of their own accord Henry’s hips rose, pressing against Hans’s body. A heat was swelling in Henry’s trousers, but the ale kept it from becoming a need.

Instead Henry focused on Hans’s mouth, which he now tasted with his own tongue, running it over Hans’s teeth, flicking it across his soft lips. Hans pulled away slightly, and Henry, his eyes now accustomed to the dark, could make out an expression on his face both beautiful and heartbreaking. Hans’s desire mirrored Henry’s own. “I have thought about this moment many times,” Hans whispered. “Wondering what you taste like, how it feels to be near you.”

“You have?” Henry’s head swam. He really should have stopped drinking three or four tankards sooner.

Hans kissed Henry again, his arms encircling him, pulling him close. They rolled, their legs tangling together, and Henry became aware of the hardness in Hans’s trousers pressing against him, calling his own member to attention. Suddenly, Henry wanted nothing in the world so much as to remove the layers of clothing between them. Yet he feared he was too drunk, and he knew, despite his desperate longing, that the ale made his own manhood betray him. Instead, he tugged at the laces of Hans’s breeches until they came undone, and slipped his hand inside. Hans gasped, his head thrown back, as Henry’s fingers curled around his cock. Did ale have no affect on the man? His cock was like granite, yet warm, the skin softer than Henry could have imagined. Henry ran his thumb over the tip, and a drop of moisture followed. He began to stroke, slowly, as he would stroke himself, his gaze on Hans’s face. Hans’s eyes were closed, his lips parted, his breath heavy. Henry gripped him harder, and Hans’s eyes flew open and locked onto Henry’s, and he kissed him again, roughly, pulling him close with both hands as Henry’s strokes became fast, frantic. Suddenly, a flood of warmth coated his hand, and Hans moaned into his mouth.

Hans pulled away slightly as Henry pulled his hand from his breeches. “Good God above,” Hans whispered, his hair falling against Henry’s cheek again. “Jesus, Henry.” He lay half on top of Henry, who found himself now unsure of what to do with the mess on his hand. A wicked thought occurred to him, and once it had done so, he couldn’t shake it. He gave in and put his fingers to his mouth, licking Hans’s seed from them. The taste overwhelmed him, the juice thick and rich, like nothing he had ever tasted. He realized he had closed his eyes, and opened them to find Hans watching him, a smile on his lips.

“You like my taste, boy?” Henry noticed that Hans had left off using his name.

“You are delicious,” Henry replied, licking his lips.

Hans grinned, his hand snaking into Henry’s trousers. But even Hans’s soft fingers could not coax Henry’s member to full hardness. The room spun. Hans’s smile fell. “Apparently not delicious enough.” He rolled away, off Henry, taking the warmth of his body with him. A soft whimper escaped Henry’s lips, but his head was spinning so badly now he could muster no further protest.

—————————————

Henry woke to sunlight slanting in through the open doorway. Heavy snores emanated from beside him. Henry turned to find Hans lying next to him, his face pillowed on his hand. Henry blinked, remembering the previous night. The taste of Hans’s seed was still in his mouth.

Henry sat up, and immediately regretted it. He bolted to his feet and barely made it outside before retching. He stood, hands on his knees, emptying his stomach of at least the previous day’s contents, if not more. The taste of beer was still strong in his retching.

He was nudged roughly aside and nearly lost his balance. Turning, he saw Hans stomp past him, tying the laces on his breeches. Hans didn’t acknowledge Henry’s presence. Henry realized his own breeches were undone and hastily did them back up, glancing around to see if anyone saw. But the courtyard was deserted.

Over the next several days things did not improve. Lord Capon was good to his word, and Henry was, indeed, made his new chamberlain, but he discovered to his dismay that the job carried a load of responsibilities he felt completely unequal to. Servants constantly made requests of him, and no sooner had he begun to do something for one than another needed his attention. The entire household moved into the upper castle, which required a tremendous amount of oversight, and which Henry mostly fumbled through. Sir Hans was rarely around, and when he was he spoke roughly to Henry, calling him “Chamberlain” at best and “boy” at worst. He never used Henry’s name, and he never smiled.

Finally, after about a fortnight of such torture, Henry sought the lord in his chambers one night. The true lordship had apparently proved beneficial for him, because Henry found him bent over a stack of official-looking parchments. Only a few weeks prior he would almost certainly have been in the tavern.

“My lord,” Henry said, clasping his hands nervously. “I wonder if I might have a word with you.”

Hans did not look up. “You may.”

Henry entered the chamber and closed the door behind him. He took a breath, then let it out, uncertain how to proceed. Lord Capon continued to peer at the parchments, occasionally making a mark on them with a quill. “Well?” he finally asked, still not looking up.

“Sir,” Henry said, steeling his resolve, “I appreciate the position you’ve given me, but I feel…I’m not certain I am the right man for the job.”

“And why is that?” Hans’s gaze remained on the parchment.

“I don’t…” Henry faltered. “People are always asking things of me, and I have no idea how to do them, or who I should go to for help. And you…” He glanced up, but Hans still didn’t look at him. “You don’t even use my name anymore.” It sounded like a child’s whine, now that he had said it out loud.

But Hans slammed his quill onto the table and finally met Henry’s gaze. “Must I use your name for you to do your job?”

“No, but—”

“Do you think I’ve forgotten it, Henry?”

Henry’s heart beat faster at hearing his name again uttered from Hans’s lips. But this was going all wrong. Why was Hans so angry?

“Have I offended you somehow?”

Hans laughed mirthlessly. “Offended me? Hardly. You’ve just shown me how tremendously wrong I was about you.”

Henry wracked his brains trying to understand. Hans had kissed him that night, he was certain of it, not the other way around. Should he not have pushed for more? “I’m sorry, I don’t understand what you mean.”

Lord Capon once again picked up his quill and resumed scratching at his parchment. “You’re just like all the others. Indulging the young lord, using him for your own gain. Well, good work, Henry. You got what you wanted.”

Henry tried to make sense of these words, but his brain kept going back to one word in particular. “What others?”

Lord Capon shook his head. “Like you don’t know.”

“Honestly, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Hans looked up again, his gaze cold. “You flattered me, got me to give you a cushy job, and then when I felt something real for you, you used my affection without feeling anything yourself.”

“Without feeling…?” Something in Henry’s brain clicked into place. “You’re angry because I wasn’t hard.”

Hans laughed again and picked up his quill, but Henry strode quickly to the table and knocked it from his hand. Hans watched, incredulous, as it skittered away across the desk.

“It wasn’t because I didn’t want to,” Henry said. “It was the ale. We had drunk ten or twelve tankards by that point. I have no idea how you still managed as you did, honestly.”

Hans’s eyes went wide. Henry immediately regretting knocking the quill from his hand, but his lord’s gaze did not narrow in anger. Instead, he merely blinked. “Because of the ale?” Then he threw back his head and laughed. “Good God, man, are you that bad at drinking?”

“I don’t think—” Henry began, but Hans cut him off, no longer laughing.

“So you weren’t using me then?”

Henry leaned forward. “I would never. I didn’t even want this job, really. It was your suggestion. I hadn’t thought at all about what to do after we got back to Rattay.”

“Don’t be ungrateful,” Hans said, but there was no malice in it. Rather, he smiled mischievously. “The ale, eh? But you haven’t been drinking now.”

A shiver went up Henry’s spine. “No, I haven’t.”

Hans rose from his chair. He stood close enough so that Henry felt the heat of his body. The hairs rose along Henry’s neck. Hans’s gaze traveled down Henry’s torso, and he reached out and tugged open the laces of Henry’s breeches.

This time Henry’s response was immediate. Without the cloud of ale fogging his brain, his senses were all sharpened, as if in battle. His heartbeat thrummed in his ears, echoed by a throbbing in his cock as it sprang to attention. Hans grinned, his eyes sparkling. “So you were telling the truth.” He looked up. “You want me.”

It was not a question, but Henry felt obliged to answer. “Yes.”

Hans knelt, sliding Henry’s trousers from his hips as he did so. Henry had no time to wonder what would come next. Hans opened his mouth and took Henry’s cock into it, sliding his mouth along the length. Henry gasped and bucked his hips toward Hans, resisting the urge to grab his lord by his hair and plunge deeper into his throat. Instead he groped backward until he gripped the edges of Hans’s desk, his nails biting into the wood as Hans began to move his mouth along Henry’s cock, his tongue curling around him.

The desire to throw back his head in ecstasy fought with the desire to keep his gaze locked on the sight of Sir Hans Capon on his knees before him, his eyes closed as he took Henry deeper. Henry felt the tip of his cock touch the back of Hans’s throat, and he gave in and moaned as the young lord’s hands took firm hold on his thighs, guiding his cock in and out of his mouth. Henry’s breath came short and he held onto the desk for dear life as Hans’s strokes came faster and faster, Henry’s cock touching the back of his throat each time. Finally, the tension in him broke, and Henry gushed into Hans’s mouth, bucking against him again and again as he came.

Hans pulled away as Henry sagged against the desk, and rose, wiping his mouth with a finger. “Well,” he said, “I’m glad that’s resolved.”

Henry, his trousers still around his ankles, fought to regain his breath. One thought began to shout above the others. Finally, pulling up his trousers, he could hold back the question no longer. “Hans. What others?”

Hans shrugged, sitting back behind the desk. Henry shook his head. He should have known. Hans had kissed him in the first place, and certainly took his cock into his throat as though he had practiced. “I’m not your first,” Henry declared.

Hans cocked his head. “Is that important to you?”

Henry shrugged, leaning against the desk. “I don’t know.” He sighed. “You’re mine, if it matters.”

Hans laughed, and Henry felt a rush of anger. But Hans said, “You’re a virgin?”

“Well, no,” Henry admitted. “But with women. You’re my first man.”

Hans stood and leaned beside him. His warmth was a welcome presence, despite Henry’s anger and confusion. Hans ducked his head and looked up at Henry. “It’s not so different, men and women, is it?”

No woman had ever put her mouth on Henry’s cock. No woman’s seed had ever lingered on Henry’s tongue until the morning. “It is different.” He looked up, meeting Hans’s eyes. “You’re different.”

Hans pulled Henry to him suddenly, his mouth hungry. Henry fumbled, stumbled, stood, pressing against him, desperate for more. Henry tasted his own seed on Hans’s tongue, and somehow, even though he had just spent himself, his cock twitched again at the thought.

Hans’s hands were once again undoing Henry’s trousers, but this time when they slid to his ankles, Hans pulled away. His gaze locked on Henry’s, he unlaced his own trousers, and Henry was treated to the sight of Hans’s hard cock bobbing free of them. Hans pulled his shirt off over his head, and Henry did the same. Hans stepped closer to him, but instead of kissing him again, he spun him so Henry faced the desk. Hans’s hand on his back gently pushed Henry forward. A small rustling noise made Henry jump, then Hans’s fingers, slick with something oily, probed his anus, slipping inside. Henry gasped, first with the sensation, then with the realization of what was about to happen. Then Hans’s cock was against him, then inside him, and Henry’s brain was a hum of pain and pleasure.

“God, Henry,” Hans moaned, pulling back and thrusting in again. “Jesus fucking Christ.”

Henry opened his legs, widening his stance, and braced his elbows against the desk as Hans pumped faster and harder into him. The sound of Hans’s skin smacking against his own beat a steady rhythm that Henry felt up his spine as Hans drove into him. Hans’s soft hands gripped his hips, and his nails bit into Henry’s flesh as his thrusts became frenzied. Finally, Henry felt Hans’s cock throb inside him, and Hans collapsed against his back.

Hans pulled wetly out of him, and Henry turned and pulled him to himself, kissing him roughly, then tenderly, tangling his fingers in his lord’s hair, holding his warm body against him. Hans, his strength returning, kissed him back eagerly, wrapping his arms around him. Locked together in this manner, they stumbled to Hans’s bed, where Hans gently pulled Henry down with him. Sitting gave Henry a slight twinge of pain, and he realized every time he sat he would think of Hans until he healed. But Hans pushed him back into a reclining position, and lay next to him, one leg thrown over Henry’s own.

Hans propped his head in his hand and stroked Henry’s chest. “Not a virgin anymore, in any sense of the word, are you?” he asked, his eyes gleaming.

Henry smiled. “I suppose not.” He kissed Hans deeply, relishing the taste of himself that had almost entirely left Hans’s tongue. When they pulled apart Hans pillowed his head on Henry’s chest. Henry stroked his hair, feeling overcome by a warm peace. He had not felt this good in a long time, possibly his entire life.

“Earlier,” Henry said, “you said you felt something for me.” Perhaps he should just keep quiet and enjoy the feeling of Hans resting against him, but his head was whirling with everything he had just done. “Something real.”

“Mm,” Hans muttered against his chest.

“I…” Henry sighed, noting how Hans’s head moved with his breath. “I think I feel something real too.”

But Hans’s only reply was a soft snore. Henry smiled. They lay like that, Henry stroking Hans’s hair, until the lamp burned out and Henry finally fell asleep.

—————————————

Life in the new lord’s house fell into a sort of routine. Henry became, if not skilled, at least competent as chamberlain. Sir Hans often called Henry into his chambers to discuss important matters, and about once a week the discussion ended with the two of them curled around each other in bed, sweaty and satiated. Many in the house grumbled that Sir Hans spent too much time with his chamberlain. Sir Hans replied that Henry was the only one who gave him good counsel. Privately, Henry thought that Hans likely got good counsel from any number of men, but Henry was the only one he listened to. This thought pleased Henry, so he kept it to himself.

One evening Henry was summoned to Hans’s chamber by a servant boy. Hans had neglected Henry lately; it had been more than a fortnight since they had lain together, and Henry had been reduced to relieving his own tensions by himself in the evenings, recalling the feel of Hans’s mouth wrapped around his cock to help him finish. Thus he made his way to his lord’s chamber with a devilish smile on his lips.

He knocked and was bade to enter, but the scene that greeted him was not what he had expected. Hans, his hair disheveled, paced back and forth in the center of the room, his features arranged into a scowl. He did not greet Henry, but launched into a tirade instead.

“I’m quite troubled. Quite troubled. I require your counsel.”

Henry bowed. “I am at your service, as always, my lord.”

“Oh, stop it.” Hans waved a hand and continued pacing. “Don’t flatter me right now. I can’t handle it.”

Henry had no idea what that meant, so he straightened his back and held his tongue. But Hans merely continued to pace. Finally, Henry could take it no longer. “What is the matter, Hans?”

Hans stopped pacing and faced him. “You, Henry. You are the matter.”

“Pardon?” Henry was completely lost, but Hans didn’t seem to notice. He resumed pacing.

“I can’t concentrate. Of course,” he waved a hand at the stack of parchments on his desk, “I never could concentrate on this dull nonsense. But I can’t concentrate on important things either. Archery. Sword fighting. Riding. Hunting.”

Henry had no idea when Hans would have done any of those things recently, and was silently appalled that the lord thought his pleasurable pursuits were the only tasks of importance he had, but he kept that to himself. Instead, he said, “How am I involved?”

“Blast, Henry!” Lord Capon threw his hands in the air. “Because it’s your fault! I pull my bowstring and I think of the bow of your lips. I grip my sword and I think of gripping your cock. I straddle my horse and I feel your hips beneath me. I sight a deer and your face flashes into my head.”

Henry couldn’t help it, his lips spread in a wide grin. “My lord.” He ducked his head in acknowledgement. But Hans scowled at him.

“It’s not a compliment! I can’t stop thinking about you, which means I can’t begin thinking about anything else! Henry, it’s driving me mad!” He actually pulled at his hair at this, and Henry then understood why his lord was so disheveled.

Henry cleared his throat. “How am I to aid you in this matter, my lord?”

“Oh, do stop calling me that,” Hans said, sneering. “Hans. Just because you serve me doesn’t mean you’re my servant.”

“All right. Hans.” Henry didn’t comment on the lunacy of what Hans had just said. “How am I to aid you in this matter?”

Hans crossed the room swiftly to him and took Henry by the shoulders. “Tell me why.” He shook him slightly. “Why must I think of you day and night? Why must your face flash before my eyes no matter what task I set myself?” His eyes pleaded. “Why can’t I stop thinking about you?”

Henry grinned again, then cleared his throat and tried to stop. “If I may,” he began, at which Hans shook him. “Yes, what?” he demanded.

“You sound like a man in love.” The grin returned. Henry couldn’t help himself.

Hans pushed him roughly away, his jaw slack, eyes wide. He closed his mouth with a snap. “Of course!” He grabbed Henry’s shoulders again and shook him once more. Henry dearly wished he would stop that. “That’s it, of course! I am in love with you!”

Now Henry found that his own jaw had fallen open. “You’re what?”

“Your counsel is wise, as always. It explains everything. I love you.” His gaze burned. “Do you love me?”

Henry’s head reeled. Lord Capon of Rattay, whose bed Henry had only just begun to get used to sharing, had just openly, unabashedly, declared his love for him. And was now demanding that Henry answer in kind.

Hans shook him again. “Please stop that,” Henry said, pushing Hans’s hands off his shoulders.

“Answer me, man!” Hans insisted, stepping closer. “Do you love me?”

Henry regarded his lover’s face: his square jaw, his dark eyes, his perfectly straight nose, the hair that was falling over his forehead. Henry had many times gazed at this face as it slept, peacefully, resting against him, rising and falling on his chest. The face was now eager, desperate, as Hans searched Henry for an answer. Henry thought about the past days without Hans, how he had pictured this very face as he squirted seed onto his own hand, how he had wished, repeatedly, for a summons to this chamber, how he had ached to feel Hans’s touch, to smell his scent, to hear his laugh.

“Dear God,” Henry breathed. “I think I do.”

Hans’s face broke into a wide smile, and he pulled Henry close, smothering his mouth with a kiss. When he finally pulled away, his hands on the sides of Henry’s face, Henry looked deep into his eyes. “I love you, Hans.” He laughed out loud at the absurdity of it. “Good lord, I really do.”

Then they were pulling each other toward the bed, fumbling with laces and pulling off shirts, falling onto the soft sheets, licking skin, tasting sweat. Henry pressed his body against Hans, feeling his lord’s cock stiffen beneath him. Grinning, Henry ducked his head and kissed a trail down Hans’s torso, finally flicking his tongue over the tip of his cock, licking away the bead of moisture that had gathered there. Hans gasped, and Henry took the whole of him into his mouth. He had steadily improved in his ability to do this as Hans had gently guided him these past months, pushing slowly deeper and deeper. Henry now opened his throat and pushed until his teeth met Hans’s torso, eliciting a low moan from him. Henry licked back along the length of his shaft, then released him, crawling back up to look Hans in the eyes again.

“I love you,” he repeated, and claimed Hans’s mouth with his own. As the kiss deepened, Henry felt Hans shift his hips, and, fumbling, he reached for the pot of oil that was now always within reach of the bed. He dipped his fingers into it, then rubbed them across his own cock and then Hans’s hole, sinking quickly into him. The tightness, the warmth of him brought a gasp to Henry’s lips, and he pumped, hard, his gaze locked onto Hans’s. Henry braced himself against Hans’s legs as he thrust, and watched Hans take his own cock in his hand, its veins bulging as he stroked it. Henry could hold on no longer and ground into Hans, emptying himself inside him. Hans pulled him close for a kiss, and Henry had learned when he did this to rub hard against him, even as he felt himself go soft and slip out. But it was enough, and Hans groaned as his seed squirted out, coating both of them in a sticky layer of semen.

Henry rolled aside, sweaty, sticky, smelling thickly of sex, and yet he had no desire to clean himself off. Instead, he pulled Hans into his arms and nuzzled his hair. “What now, my love?” he murmured.

Hans burrowed his face into Henry’s collarbone, a favorite spot of his. Henry’s heart swelled at the thought that he knew Hans’s favorite parts of his body. “What do you mean, what now?” Hans muttered into his chest.

“What does this mean for us?” Henry clarified. “Loving each other.”

Hans pulled back and looked at him. “Mean?”

“I mean…” Henry searched for the words. “What will we do? Will we leave together?”

“Leave? For what?” Hans pushed himself away from Henry, leaving a coldness in his wake. “Where would we go?”

“Someplace we can be together.” Even as the words tumbled from Henry’s lips, he realized his foolishness. Did such a place even exist, in Heaven or on Earth?

Hans scoffed. “Why would I leave? I finally have what I have been waiting for all these years. And why would you? Is the job I gave you not enough?”

Henry shook his head. “I didn’t mean…” He tried again. “I just want to be able to be with you.”

“You are with me.” Hans’s brow creased.

“I mean really be with you.”

Hans laughed. “You mean you want me for a husband? To have your children? Come, Henry. I thought you were smarter than that.”

Henry’s eyes felt hot. Why had Hans called him here, said these things, made Henry say them as well, if not for some resolution?

Hans flopped heavily onto his back. “Come, boy, don’t get all weepy. I’m only making fun of you a little.”

Henry scooted away from him, angry with himself for acting like a petulant child, and angry with the world that there seemed to be nothing else to do about it. Hans propped himself up on an elbow and faced Henry. “Oh, come on. Don’t be like that. What are you so upset about? Are you in such great need of a husband?”

Henry held the sob in his throat but felt hot tears spill down both cheeks. “Why, Hans? Why did you say that to me, make me say it to you, when it means nothing? Changes nothing?”

Hans pushed himself closer. “Nothing? No, it doesn’t mean nothing.” He wiped away Henry’s tears with his thumb. “It doesn’t mean we’re going to run away somewhere together, but it doesn’t mean nothing, you fool.” He pulled Henry back down. Henry resisted a little, but Hans’s tone had softened and his hands were gentle. He finally let Hans cradle his head against him. “It means everything, my love. Everything.” Hans kissed the top of his head, and Henry had to admit that he was right. Even if there was nowhere they could love each other but here, it did mean something. It meant everything.


End file.
